Just One of Those Days
by Agent ERA
Summary: What happens when "just one of those days" turns into a living nightmare? Rated for room to play...title subject to change...NON-SLASH...
1. Chapter 1

_**Just One of Those Days**_

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_**Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade….**_

_**Rating: PG 13**_

_**Warnings: Explosions, violence, blood, mild, mild language, ugly injuries, the usual angst…**_

_**Non-slash, just friendship, plain and simple.**_

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing. _**

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Pain, that was very the first thing he noticed when he came to, lots of pain. He tried to move and was immediately rewarded with more pain. _That,_ he thought blearily, _was a bad idea_. Then he felt the pressing weight of something heavy on his legs and on his right side, trapping his right arm. His left arm somehow remained free. _How did this happen? _He wondered dazedly. Moving his head, he tried to get a better look and was assaulted by an intense wave of nausea he had never felt before. He turned to the left and heaved, emptying his stomach of his breakfast. Darkness claimed him once more…

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**_To Be Continued..._**

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**__****_A/N: _**___I know I should be updating my other stories but after I watched this new show, I got hooked... literally. Please read and review! And now to the rest of the story...eventually. _


	2. Chapter 2

_**Five and half hours earlier…..**_

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_**221b Baker Street.**_

_**5:30 A.M. **_

BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP! BEEP BEEP!

John Watson rolled over onto his side with a groan. He reached out blindly, fumbling for the alarm clock. His hand struck the button and the alarm shut off. John buried his face in his pillow stifling another groan. His shoulder ached profusely, refusing his silent plea for more sleep. John finally sat up on the side of his bed and rubbed the morning grit from his eyes. He stretched and let out a loud yawn. After he showered, shaved and got dressed, he headed downstairs for a quick breakfast before he left for his shift at St. Barts.

_**5:35 A.M.**_

Sherlock stretched out the kink in his neck as he buried himself further in the Afghan. The three nicotine patches he'd slapped onto his left arm had worn out hours ago. Sherlock yawned until he heard his jaw pop. As he settled himself further into the couch his sharp ears heard movement on the stairs. He jerked his arm underneath the blanket just before John's shuffling footsteps reached the sitting room. There was a pause, then the crinkling of discarded paper. Sherlock kept his eyes shut as he heard his flat mate sigh and abruptly move into the kitchen. Before long, he smelled grits and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. The clinking of dishes roused him from his stupor. Sherlock listened as John's footsteps finally faded down the stairs. Once he was gone, Sherlock got up and slapped on another patch.

_**5:45 A.M. **_

Once outside, John flagged down a cab and departed for St. Barts.

_**6:15 A.M. **_

_**St. Barts Hospital**_

John paid the cabbie and entered the hospital; he grimaced as he heard the sounds of chainsaws and drills. A desperately needed wing was being added to St. Barts. John gritted his teeth against the noise and abruptly sneezed as saw dust tickled his nose. How it could spread so fast was beyond him. John sneezed again as he neared the front desk.

"'Morning, Kelly," John sneezed, bloody sawdust.

"Bless you, John," Kelly replied, "Catching cold?"

John shook his head, "Sawdust-_Aaaa-chooo!_"

Kelly winced in sympathy as she shuffled some papers on her desk. She said, "It's been getting on everyone's nerves, Lord knows how we desperately need more room to house patients and all." Kelly leaned closer, "Keep an eye out for Dr. Moffat though; he's been a veritable bear this morning."

John grinned. "Oh I will, believe me."

He headed off towards his office. Dr. Moffat was generally known for his gruff, no-nonsense attitude that could get downright nasty when he believed you were doing something wrong. John shuddered as he remembered his first encounter with the tall, burly doctor. Somebody sneezed, startled, John looked around. Striding towards him was Dr. Moffat himself, his elbow still covering his face. Dr. Moffat sneezed again, barely avoiding a collision with John, but not before snarling, "Quit gawkin' an' get to work, Watson!" and sneezed three times in succession.

John could barely contain his chortles as he heard the violent swearing fade down the hall, punctuated with sneezing.

_**8:30 A.M**_

_**221 b Baker St. **_

Mrs. Hudson hummed to herself she sliced some homemade bread and plopped it into the toaster. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a frying pan and set on her stove. Martha tuned in her small portable radio to the news station. She grinned, her mood turning melancholy as she remembered her Teddy giving to her as a first anniversary gift. Martha shook herself and grabbed two eggs from the fridge. What she heard on the radio was definitely not the weather, curious, Martha turned it up. The two eggs dropped to the floor.

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**_To Be Continued..._**

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**_A/N: _**Isn't that an evil cliffie? I thought about writing more but then I decided that it might spoil the story. Next chapter up as soon as I can get myself to write it. You'll find out what happened in the next chappie.

Please leave a review if you like it. Reviews help me decide if I want to continue a story. Virtual rootbeer floats to everyone who does and my thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Just One of Those Days**

_**A/N:**_Terribly sorry for the late update, but I've been "off" the computer for a while and unfortunately ran out of steam. So enough with my babbling and on with the story…

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**7:30 A.M. **_**(One hour earlier)**_

_**New Scotland Yard: one of many break rooms**_

Inspector Lestrade hummed to himself as he poured a freshly brewed pot of coffee into a mug. Behind him, other officers, plain clothed and uniformed, sat around tables, before getting ready for their morning shifts. Above them in the far, left hand corner of the room, a 'telly was fixated to the wall and was spouting off the weather predictions for day.

A bleary eyed Sgt. Donovan stepped up to the counter next to him and reached for the coffee pot.

"'Morning, Donovan," Lestrade said cheerily, "Sleep all right?"

Donovan gave him a look and sipped gratefully at her coffee, "No," she grimaced, "somebody's dog was up all night barking its bloody head off."

Lestrade was about to reply when every single pager went off in the room. Walkie-talkies and radios burst to life with frantic activity. He paled when he heard about what had just happened. He barely spared a glance at Donovan as they bolted out of the room, the others following closely behind. The coffee mugs were left spinning on the counter top in the now deserted break room.

**8:35 A.M. **_**(present time) **_

_**221 b Baker St. **_

Mrs. Hudson raced frantically up the stairs to Sherlock's room. She found him lying the couch and she shook his shoulder, "Wake up, Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said, "There's been an explosion!"

Sherlock yawned, turned his back on her and mumbled, "Dull, Mrs. Hudson, dull."

She was persistent, "Well, you won't think that when you've heard where it happened."

That got his attention. Mrs. Hudson snatched the T.V. remote from the cluttered coffee table and switched on the 'telly.

Sherlock slowly sat up as he watched the unfolding events before his eyes. A huge orange and black fireball was expanding across the screen, punching its way through the air. Fire crews desperately tried to put it out. Police had cordoned off the entire area surrounding the building. He paled as he recognized it immediately.

A portion of St. Barts had been bombed.

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_**A/N:**_ Well, now you finally know what happened. But where is John in the middle of all this? Uh-oh…stay tuned for the next chapter. Reviews help my inspiration…


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_** Hya folks! Long time no see. Terribly sorry about my updating, but lately I've been concentrating like mad on working to get ready for my GED math test which is on the 21st. Math unfortunately for me, is my worst subject. I'm really happy that you guys are sticking with the story, the reviews have been great and they still are.

Little info for **Goodfairy**: Grits is, I think, is sorta like porridge, I'm not sure :X

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Here be the story...

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**8:40 A.M.**

_**221b Baker St. **_

Sherlock was out of the flat before Mrs. Hudson could even open her mouth. Shrugging into his coat, Sherlock flung out an arm for a taxi. Cars clogged the street, honking madly, and he had to walk a block before he finally caught a cab.

"St. Bart's." Sherlock ordered briskly.

The ride was long, what should have been a thirty minute drive turned into an hour long. Sherlock tapped his fingers against the door handle, and he finally snapped. He had the cabbie drop him off though they were still a couple blocks away. Sherlock walked as fast as he could in the crowd of shoppers. St. Bart's loomed up in front of him and he could orange and red flames billow up from the gaping hole. Fire crews desperately tried to keep in control. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off nearly the entire main parking lot. Sherlock ducked underneath said tape and scanned the crowd of police officers, E.M.T.'s, and evacuees for Lestrade.

"Lestrade!" Sherlock found him surrounded by a group of co-workers, shouting orders. They quickly dispersed and Lestrade turned wearily to Sherlock.

"Where's John?" Sherlock had to shout to be heard over the din.

Lestrade's eye's widened and the weariness vanished from his face, "He's here?"

Sherlock bristled, "He had a shift today, where is he?"

Lestrade shook his head, "I haven't seen him, Sherlock, in fact, I don't think anybody has."

Before Sherlock could retort back, a commotion broke out by a nearby ambulance.

"Sir, please! You really should sit down!" A medic said, she insistently pulled the arm of a large, white-coated, barrel-chested man who had blood flowing into his left eye. He jerked his arm from the medic's grip and shouted, "Let me be, dammit! There are others worse than me! I don't need stitches! Just butterfly it!"

"But Sir!"

"No buts! Butterfly it!" The man finally sat down and the medic quickly got to work cleaning off the worst of the blood. "Ouch! Watch it!"

"Sorry, sir," The medic sprayed disinfectant on the ugly gash and placed a butterfly strip over it. "Really sir, you should get that stitched."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Dr. Moffat I presume?" Sherlock asked the large man.

"You presume right, whatdaya want?"

"Where's Dr. Watson?"

"How should I know? I'm not his keeper."

Sherlock barely managed to keep his temper in check, "When was the last time you saw him?"

The big man paled, "Aw, bloody-" Dr. Moffat swallowed, "Last I saw him, he was in the construction zone."

Lestrade swore.

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_Pain once again woke him up. He opened his eyes but his vision was still blurry and unfocused. A heavy weight trapped his right arm and legs. His left arm, however, remained free. He turned to the left and vomited again, but nothing came up, having emptied his stomach a while ago. The jarring force of his heaving sent him spiraling back in unconsciousness, before his vision dimmed completely, John thought, _Sherlock, where are you?

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**_A/N:_** Sorry peoples! I know you don't like cliffhangers but what's a story without'em? *cackles* Well, at least you know what happened to John...sort of...

Mwuhahahaha*coughchokesplutter* Leggo, Sherlock, I can't breath! Help!


	5. Chapter 5

**Just One of those Days. Ch. 5**

All feeling in his right arm and in his legs disappeared, leaving them numb. John supposed blearily that this was a good thing. His chest, however, still complained mightily whenever he drew a breath. It felt like his lungs were being torn apart by claws which did not bode well. Broken ribs, he surmised, probably more than one, and pierced lung, judging by the blood dribbling down his cheeks. Dried blood caked his forehead, the sides of his face, and matted his hair in sticky clumps.

It had all happened so fast. Snatches of broken pieces of memory swirled around in his murky brain. John remembered that during his coffee break, he had been walking through the new wing that was being constructed. He frowned as he caught sight of a shadow creeping around the corner.

"Hey!" John saw the surprise than fear flutter over the stranger's rugged face. "You're not supposed to be in here." Then he noticed the rusty crowbar clutched tightly in the man's hands and his eyes widened. Before he could shout for help, the man swung, and the crowbar connected with his forehead and he knew no more…

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**_A/N:_** Sorry it's short, but that's all I got for now. H'mmm whose is the "stranger"? Stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

_Terribly sorry for long delay, my muse has decided to take an extended vacation...enjoy!_

_Usual disclaimers apply: I own neither Holmes nor Lestrade except for Sgt. Dickerson..._

**Just One of those Days**_** Ch. 6 **_

**12:40 P.M **

_**St. Barts Hospital **_

"Good grief, Holmes," Lestrade finally snapped, "stop pacing and sit down, you're giving me a headache." He rubbed at his temples to prove his point.

From the corner of the makeshift tent that been set up for their base of operations; Sherlock paused in his manic pacing to send a withering glare at the detective before resuming his pacing. "They should have found him by now," Holmes snarled angrily, "What's taking them so long?"

Lestrade sighed, it had roughly around four hours since the explosion in the hospital and thankfully, there had been only two deaths and several more injured though not seriously. Watson was bound to be badly injured once they had dug him out if he was indeed in the construction zone. "Holmes, there's a lot of rubble in the blast zone so it's bound to take them a while." He said with forced patience.

Sherlock muttered something unintelligible under his breath and Lestrade wasn't if he wanted to know what he said. He turned back to watch the process of the rescue workers combing the rubble for anymore survivors. By now, they had pulled most of them out except Watson. Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose against a painful spike of his headache. When he opened them again, Sgt. Dickerson from the bomb detail was standing in front of him.

Before he could open his mouth, Sherlock stopped to pacing to snap, "Well?"

Lestrade barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "Did you find the point of origin yet?"

Dickerson shook his head, "No sir, but I think we have a lead where though."

"Oh?"

"Yessir," Dickerson hesitated, "Only problem is that it's obstructed by a lot of rubble."

Lestrade sighed again catching on, "And it's also unstable."

"And," Sherlock snapped, "Watson was last seen near the origin point as well." He turned on Lestrade, but before he could speak however, there was a triumphant shout from within the rubble.

A lone dusty, young worker sped towards the tent, "Detective Lestrade!" He shouted, "Detective!" The young man came to a stop just outside the tent and said breathlessly, "We found Dr. Watson, sir!"

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**_A/N: _**_My deepest apologies for the horrendously long delay. My muse it seems decided to go New York with my two younger sisters and before that, well, I was reading a lot of Stargate: Atlantis fics. Terrible sorry for the shortness of the chapter, I'm still getting used to writing multipile chapter fics. Well, at least they finally found Watson. Now all they have to do is dig him out...easier said than done, I'm afraid. _

_I wanna thank all of you who reviewed(also those who have stuck with this story thus far) and those who decide to, it really means a lot. Reviews are always welcome!._

_Have a good summer and God bless, ERA_


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